


Our Eloquence And Anger

by mossyskies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU Bucky Didn't Survive The Fall, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Steve Rogers, But is Still a Good Thousand Years Older than Everyone Else, Charles Xavier is a Good Dad, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki is Technically Underage, M/M, Non-Central Relationships Not Tagged, Not Beta Read, Odin's A+ Parenting, Porbably More, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 00:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mossyskies/pseuds/mossyskies
Summary: “Pardon?”Steve exclaimed.The Commander resisted the urge to roll his remaining eye, “I said, Captain, that due to the nature of the impending threat Asgard feels it best to have their most powerful sorcerer fighting for them, instead of against.”Under orders from both Odin Allfather and Commander Fury, Steve is tasked with taming what is left of the fallen God of Mischief; befriend him, train him - they don't care. Just get Loki to fight for Asgard(and by default, Midgard)in the impending war against Thanos.  Loki, however, is in no position to fight.Steve has a decision to make. Help Loki? Or leave him to the tender mercies of a world that would have him killed in the name of glory?





	1. It Should be Funny, Really

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, if you choose to read it, will be updated sporadically. I'm trying to always be at least one chapter ahead when writing but hey, life happens.
> 
> **KEY DETAILS**  
>  This is an AU where Bucky died on the mission to capture Zola in 'Captain America: The First Avenger'.  
> Loki is the human equivalent to seventeen at the beginning of the story and had his son Sleipnir at fifteen.  
> Slepnir is Loki's only child.  
> Steve has been slightly aged-down to twenty-two.
> 
> Title from the song It's Beginning To Get To Me  by Snow Patrol, featured on their album Eyes Open.

_“Pardon?”_ Steve exclaimed.

The Commander resisted the urge to roll his remaining eye, “I said, Captain, that due to the nature of the impending threat Asgard feels it best to have their most powerful sorcerer fighting for them, instead of against,” It was on days like this that Shield Commander Nicholas Fury really felt his age. God, he wished he had pawned off this job to Coulson; that man was always asking for more assignments with Captain America, “Even after I told them what a stupid-ass decision that was, Odin refused to budge and is waiting for us to deliver him the God of Mischief on a silver platter.” Fury sighed deeply and turned away from the window to look at his best soldier. The darker man disagreed with his orders yet could do nothing to change them.

Steve could not believe what he had just been told - Asgard wanted them to tame _Loki_ : the same Loki who had wreaked havoc in his brief few days free on earth, the same Loki who required an entire underground facility dedicated to keeping him locked up, the same Loki Asgard had requested, no- _commanded_ be detained on earth because of his knowledge of the Asgardian passageways and **they wanted him back**. The Captain was beyond furious. He could feel his fists twitching in his lap, hungry for the solidifying pressure a punch brings. But he couldn’t release his frustrations just yet. He was still in the middle of debriefing. After taking a few steadying breaths, Steve forced himself to remain calm, become a soldier ready to receive further orders. He leaned his elbows against the conference table, “What exactly do we need to do?”

“We need someone to build trust with Loki,” Fury began, moving forward to grip the back of one of the leather cushioned seats in the debriefing room, “Someone Loki can respect and maybe even care about, so that we can use that person as leverage to manipulate Loki into doing what we want.”

Blonde eyebrows drew a hair closer together. Manipulating a prisoner, even one as slippery as Loki, was not something Steve would usually agree with. “....Okay, seems simple enough,” he reasoned. Even if he didn’t like it, there was little the Captain could do to change orders, “Who do they want to use as leverage?” Steve asked.

Fury really wished he’d given this job to Coulson. Why did he feel the need to do this himself again? “They want you to do it.”

_“What?!”_ Goodbye, calm Steve. Hello, angry and confused Steve, _“Why me?!”_

The Captain rose to his feet, demanding answers. Who in their right mind thought that Loki would trust an Avenger? Nonetheless the unofficial poster boy for the initiative? This was an explanation Steve felt would be best received if he could look Fury in his single eye.

Fury’s eyebrow twitched. To be perfectly honest, he agreed with the Captain. This plan was approaching another previously undiscovered level of stupid. However, as the commander, he could not be seen to question orders in front of his subordinates, even ones as capable as Steve.

Fury glared at the Captain, “Sit down, Rogers,” Steve remained standing, “They want you because you’ve had the least amount of contact with Loki; Thor is obviously off the table - what with being stuck in Asgard and Loki’s brother; Stark was thrown out of his own Skyscraper; Barton was placed under mind control, and we all know he still has nightmares about it; Romanoff refuses to re-engage with Loki after what he did to Barton; Banner threw him around like a child’s ragdoll; and Coulson was shot through the chest and almost died. That leaves you. The largest amount of contact you’ve had with him was the fight in Stuttgart, and that was quickly cut short when Stark showed up. You’ve never had a conversation. He won’t be able to read you as well as the other members of the team.” 

Throughout Fury’s explanation, Steve had initially refused to be swayed. He had stood, feet shoulder width apart and arms crossed with a sceptical look on his face. The Captain was sure that nothing could be said to make him change his mind. This plan was ludicrous. Yet the more Fury spoke the more sense the darker man-made. Steve’s posture sagged slightly as he realised just how few options they had for leverage against Loki. Using a civilian was unacceptable – the public thought Loki had been sent back to Asgard. At this point, the choice was between either Maria Hill or himself, and Maria was too busy manning the Helicarrier to do long-haul intelligence work.

Steve sat down.

The commander was relieved by Steve’s surrender. The less of a fight the Captain gave the less paperwork Fury would have to do. “Am I correct to assume that’s you agreeing with me?” He asked just to be sure.

Steve dragged his hands down his face, leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath. “Yeah, yessir.”

“Good. Now listen cause I’m only gonna tell you the plan once.” Fury pressed a small button under the conference table. The windows quickly darkened to black, the lights dimmed and blue holographic plans emerged from the centre of the table. Steve supposed he should be used to this sort of technology by now, what with having lived in the twenty-first century for seven months, but he was still amazed. The future was weird.

# ***

The door to Steve’s humble apartment closed softly. He pulled off his coat and toed off his shoes (Tony was constantly picking on Steve’s choice of _“grampa loafers”_ ), putting both in the small cloakroom adjacent to the door. His keys were put in the dish on the sideboard. Steve shuffled on socked feet to the kitchen and he poured tap water into an old-fashioned kettle, sat the kettle on the hob and turned on the flame. A cup was retrieved from the overhead cupboard along with a pot of tea bags. One was grabbed, unceremoniously dumped into the cup and the pot was returned to the cupboard.

Steve leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to whistle. The meeting he’d had with Fury that day was still on his mind. How could he agree to a plan so, so _slimy_? It was the sort of plan he would expect _from_ Loki, not the sort to be used _against_ him. But that was what all the future tactical plans seemed to be based upon: using the enemy’s plans against them. What did they call it again….mutually assured destruction? It just didn’t sit right with him. Steve filled the role of Captain America; a paradigm for justice and hope. This mission, despite being covert, was neither fair nor optimistic.

A part of Steve supposed it must have had something to do with his experiences. What felt like only seven months ago ( _64 years?_ ) he had been a first-hand witness to some of the cruellest prisoner conditions in human history. It was one thing for a group of suits who’ve never seen combat to deprive a man his rights, it was another to see the shell that man became.

A sharp whistling quickly pulled him from his musings. Steve quickly lifted the kettle from the hob, his hand wrapped in a tea towel, turned off the flame and poured the boiling water into the waiting cup. With the kettle returned to the hob, Steve grabbed his tea and made his way into the living area.

The blond man sank into the couch, tucked his feet up under the cushions and glanced out of the large window that overlooked the street down below. Usually, Steve spent his evenings and days off sat here, sketching the people that passed by with the radio playing quietly in the background. There was a TV - it came with the apartment - but Steve rarely used it. Steve knew though that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his sketchpad that evening, so simply sat and tried to reason through the best course of action concerning Loki.

On one hand was Steve’s moral objections to the emotional manipulation and blackmail of a prisoner, on the other was the potentiality to gain an advantage over this dangerous alien Thanos. _Aliens. Space aliens. Space royalty. Space. God the future is strange._

It was during times like this that Steve ached for his best friend Bucky. He was always happy to act as a sounding board, ready to help Steve through any dilemma he may be having - no matter the size. What Steve wouldn’t give for his reassuring smile and a grounding clap on the shoulder right now. But Steve had to face reality; Bucky had fallen from the train. The Commandos had gone back to the ravine as soon as Zola was in custody and recovered what was left of his body. Sending that letter to Mrs Barnes had been one of the hardest things Steve had ever had to do.

_Deep breath soldier_. Now was not the time wallow in grief and self-pity. Now was the time to figure out a game plan.

Steve sipped his tea and, sick of the quiet flicked on the radio. A twenty-four-hour sports channel filled the silence. By the time Steve had finished his tea, he had devised a compromise; the Captain would play along with Fury’s plan and make a genuine attempt to offer an olive branch, but the moment Steve became uncomfortable with the situation, either due to the behaviour expected of him, the behaviour of Loki, or the treatment of the Asgardian prince, he was out.

# ***

_Sixty panels._

There are sixty panels on the ceiling of his cell.

In the gaps between these panels, there is a soft gold light: Asgardian magic dampeners. This light runs down the corners of the room and across the edges of the floor, encasing the room. Very thorough. Gold lines the edges of the Svartalfheim-made crystal glass that makes up the right wall of his cell. This window peers out into a small concrete space. Out there is a control panel, an armed guard and a set of lead doors three feet thick. Loki has no clue what lies beyond the doors. Probably more guards, he supposed. He is almost positive he is underground.

The cell is fifteen by sixteen feet and is eight feet tall. Plenty of room for the young Prince to stretch. Fitted to the back corner of his cell is a cot that runs parallel lengthways to the glass wall. It is bolted to the floor. There is no other furniture. In the opposite corner of his cell a paper screen that provides a semblance of privacy around the toilet. Meals are pushed through a hatch in the door that has not opened since Loki was dumped in his glorified cage.

Loki has been here for one month. Or, at least, what he assumes has been one month. The only way to tell time in here is by the number of meals he’s eaten. He’s had ninety-two so far.

Now normally, Loki would have taken one look at his meagre loggings, laughed, and bespelled himself away to freedom. Unfortunately for the young Prince, he had spent the time prior to being locked in this Loki-specific cage shackled by Asgardian restraints. He hadn’t had a chance. The gag _had_ been a bit much, in Loki’s opinion.

Currently, the Prince was laid in the middle of the floor parallel to the cot with his ankles crossed and his head resting on his arms. He was trying to recount his favourite tome word for word by memory. There was fuck-all else to do until his next meal came and Loki was sick to death with counting the ceiling panels.

He was halfway through the fourth spell of the Galdrabók when the door hatch opened and his third meal of the day made its appearance. Loki eyed the tray with disdain and rose from the floor. He had just grabbed the edge of the red plastic when the guard, a black man in what Loki assumed was his Midgardian fifties, tapped the glass. The Prince raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You’re going to have a visitor tomorrow after breakfast. Play nice.” The guard spoke with an accent that Loki could not place and quickly returned to his seat by the control panel. It was the second time a guard had talked to Loki since his incarceration.

A visitor? Who could possibly want to see him? Loki prayed to the gods that it wasn’t Thor. He didn’t think he could survive another _'We Were Raised Together’_ speech. He’d prefer to count the ceiling panels again. Hopefully, that imbecile was stuck on Asgard until the Bifrost bridge was rebuilt.

The young Prince allowed something powdery to coagulate on his tongue as he considered the options: he didn’t think Barton would come to see him, not after he’d delved so deeply into the archer’s brain: the Widow was out too – she was steadfast in her loyalty to Barton: the Hulk was too stupid to understand the subtle art of mockery, and Loki had not dealt the Captain any personal slight to insight a visit. It had to be the man of Iron, come to gloat and smother his victory in Loki’s face. He was the sort to do such a thing over the pettiest of gains.

With that settled, he swallowed a mouthful of gritty mush and forced himself to finish his meal. Warrior training had ingrained in Loki the need to always be combat ready - and the Prince could not fight if his body was weak from malnutrition. Not that his food was all that nutritious in the first place. What he wouldn’t give for a leg of Bilgesnipe and one of Idunn’s apples instead of this tripe Midgardians passed off as food.

Loki pushed the empty tray back through the door hatch, relieved himself, and laid down on the bed. He evaded sleep for as long as his mind allowed him. Inevitably, however, his eyes betrayed him and slipped shut; fields of ice, dust and blood haunted his fitful dreams once again.


	2. Nice to Meet You?

If he hadn’t have been driven to the facility, Steve would have had no idea of its existence. At eight am sharp a SHIELD agent had knocked on his door, driven him to a field half an hour outside of the city and picked up a seemingly random pebble. Under that pebble was a fingerprint scanner built into the ground. She placed her pointer against the pad. With a jerk, the ground beneath them opened to reveal a slim staircase. The agent confidently lowered herself down the rungs and dropped into the concrete space below.

Steve, a little more apprehensive, quickly followed the agent. Halfway down the rungs the ground closed up again, as if it had never been opened. Above his head flood lights automatically lit up the remaining rungs. Quickly Steve dropped down into the expansive grey. Waiting for him was the original agent, four armed security guards and agent Coulson.

“Good morning, Captain.” Coulson greeted stiffly. 

“Coulson,” Steve acknowledged with just as much stiffness, “I understand I’m here to open a dialogue with Prince Loki?”

Relations between Coulson and the Avengers were still strained after Coulson’s faked death. To his credit, the agent had been badly hurt - he’d had to spend two weeks in the hospital and had only been cleared for active service a few days prior, but the deceit had hurt all the same.

The older man nodded, “Yes. Follow me Captain,” Coulson turned to the left and the pair walked through claustrophobic tunnels deeper into the facility, flanked by security guards, “As I’m sure you’re aware, there are rules to interacting with the exiled Prince: do not touch the glass: if you wish to give him anything it must be put through the food slot: and no matter the circumstance you do not open the cell door.”

Steve was too busy gaping at the massive hanger doors at the end of the tunnel to convey his understanding. They looked to be lead and had to be at least two metres thick. The seam was covered in deadbolts. _All this for Loki?_

Coulson, unperturbed, waved a thumbs-up towards the guards standing at ease next to the door control panel. The gigantic doors opened with surprising ease, sliding outward just enough to let a man a little bigger than Steve through. 

All of this was becoming fairly overwhelming for Steve. Yes, he knew that an entire facility had been converted for Loki’s containment, but the Captain had assumed it would be more hospital-like. While the Prince may have been violent and dangerous, he was obviously sick. When Loki attacked New York his eyes had been ringed with dark circles, his movements were awkward, as if he were bruised, and, furthermore, all of his actions had seemed to confuse Thor - as if he were looking at a different person to the man he knew before. 

The Captain had barely a moment to think on this before his attention was grabbed by a subtle movement. On the other side of the door stood an older black gentleman dressed in a pristine S.H.I.E.L.D uniform. His arm came up in a standard salute.

Ever polite, Steve waived off the guard's salute. 

“This,” Coulson said, “Is Leeroy. He’ll be chaperoning. During any and all visits you have with Loki, Leeroy here will be sat in the surveillance room. He won’t be able to hear what you’re saying but he’ll be watching for any signs of physical altercation. If you ever need him, just wave towards the camera in the top left corner of the room.” 

Steve doubted that SHIELD would afford him any privacy with Loki, no matter what Coulson said. With all the relevant safety information relayed, Steve was finally allowed passed the doors and into the Prince’s domain.

# ***

If Loki was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. 

“Your Majesty,” Steve greeted the man behind the glass. Even while imprisoned the Captain thought it would be improper to address Loki as anything other than royalty. He _was_ a Prince after all.

“Don’t patronise me, _Captain_ ,” Loki sneered.

Behind the glass wall of his cell, Loki looked terrible. Yes - he stood tall and proud in his blue issued uniform with his hands clasped behind his back - but there was a weary heaviness to his shoulders, as if he was carrying some unseen weight. His cheeks were just as hollowed and pale as they had been in New York. The bags under his eyes were such a deep purple you wouldn’t be remiss to mistake them for bruises, and his black hair fell in greasy clumps about his face, unbrushed and washed. 

“Not patronising,” the blond spread his hands out in front of his chest in a placating action, “Would you prefer me call you Loki?” God, Steve hoped his face didn’t show how horrified he was. What had SHIELD been doing to Loki in the past month? 

“Call me whatever you desire, as long as it doesn’t imply relation to the hammer wielding oaf.” He pushed a strand of his dirty hair behind his ear, “Why are you here, Captain? To goad and mock about your victory? I thought you were above such petty teasing.” 

While speaking, Loki has started to slowly pace along the glass wall of his cell, all while glaring daggers at the man on the other side. He reminded Steve of one of the big cats from the zoo, always watching and waiting for their chance to attack. The perpetual staring didn’t help. 

_Wait._

Something was wrong with Loki’s eyes. During his incarceration on the helicarrier, Loki had spent the majority of the time staring smugly at the cameras. While watching the fallen God for any signs of movement or trickery, Steve had been taken aback by just how blue Loki’s eyes had been. Tabloids, both back in the forties and today, often commented on _‘Captain America’s gorgeous baby blues’_ , much to his chagrin, but Steve’s eyes couldn’t hold a candle to the true blue Loki possessed. Steve had never questioned it before, what with Thor having equally blue, if dimmer, eyes. But now... 

Before his better judgement could intervene, Steve blerted, “Why are your eyes green?” 

The abrupt subject change was apparently enough to throw even Loki off guard. “I beg your pardon?” He asked. There was a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“Yours eyes,” Steve explained, “were blue on the helicarrier. Now they’re green.”

This gave Loki pause. An emotion Steve couldn’t place flickered quickly across his face, and morphed into a sneer. “And how is that any of your concern, Captain?”

Steve was taken aback by the vehemence.

“Um… I-”

“ _It’s not_. It has nothing to do with you, with the invasion, _nothing_ ,” Loki abruptly turned and sat on the cot, facing the wall, “I want you to leave, Captain. Please go.”

Steve was at a loss. How had that set him off? With no other option, Steve nodded towards the camera he knew Leeroy would be watching and waited for the heavy doors behind him to open. “Alright. I’ll go now. I’m sorry I upset you, Loki. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Loki sat in silence and continued to face the wall.

# ***

After the Captain had left, Loki took the short gap between the door closing the guard arriving to wipe the tears off of his face. It was unbecoming of royalty to cry in front of mere peasants, _especially_ mortal ones. When he was sure his face was dry, he rested his head against the cool concrete. It felt wonderful against his hot, flushed cheeks.

An incessant tapping broke his reprieve however.

“What?” Loki asked, face still resting against the wall.

Leeroy was stood outside the glass. He had a knuckle raised, as if to tap again. “I just wanted to say I’m happy you tried.” 

The young prince whipped his head around and stood, face flushed with indignation, “You’re _‘happy I tried’?_ I am not some child for you to mollycoddle! How dare you give me false platitudes and expect me to be some obedient little mite-!”

By this point, Leeroy had walked away and was sat at his guard station, sipping a cup of coffee and ignoring his assigned prisoner. He was fifty-two years old and had raised his own kids through their stroppy teenage years. Leeroy knew he simply had to let Loki tire himself out. The fact that Loki was putting up such a fuss over something so little meant that he was unused to such offhanded praise. A small part of Leeroy’s soul wept for the prince. Despite being a mass murderer, he more often than not reminded the old guard of his children.

# ***

A different Shield agent dropped Steve off outside his apartment building. Unsure of what else to do, Steve went to consult with his self-appointed twenty-first-century guide.

Red elevator doors slid shut swiftly and efficiently. There were no buttons on the inside. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Rogers. Sir is on the 52nd floor, working in his personal lab. Should I warn him of your arrival?” JARVIS asked in his eerily human voice. 

Steve was a little wary of JARVIS. In the 1940’s, computers were in their infancy and there was a lot of talk around the ethics of theoretical AI. And while JARVIS was a technological marvel, the thought of having no privacy whatsoever unnerved him. 

“Please do.”

Tony was sat facing the door when Steve entered the lab. He was wearing a black muscle tee and there was grease streaked on his face, not that he seemed to notice, “Hey Cap! What have I done to bring you to my lab? Cause whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Steve ignored the playful wink Tony sent his way and found an empty stool to sit on. While Tony’s flirting had originally taken him off guard, watching him and Pepper reunite after the attack on New York Steve knew that Tony was just a flirtatious person. The love in his eyes when he looked at Pepper couldn’t be faked. 

“Nothing to do with you, Tony,” Steve said, leaning forward and clasping his hands, “But I do need some advice.”

Tony recognised that posture; Steve needed him to be serious. The brunet quickly wiped his blackened hands on a rag and adopted a similar pose, “Shoot.”

“How do you talk to someone who really doesn’t want to know you?” 

“Doesn’t want to know you? But you’re Captain America - everyone wants to know you.” 

Steve ignored the urge to roll his eyes, “Focus, please.” 

“Okay, okay,” Tony make a placating motion with his hands, “To be perfectly honest Steve, I haven’t had to deal with too many assholes like that - at least in business. Most people see the surname and fall at my feet. Perks of being an arms dealer. Outside of business though, I tend to find out-douching most people tends to work.”

Steve’s face remained blank. 

“You gotta prove you’re the more arrogant. Arrogant people won’t admit to being bested and will instead do whatever you want to save their own face.”

A pained look came over Steve’s face. Tony had tried, and Steve appreciated the effort, but he really hadn’t answered the question, “Um...not quite what I need but I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Before Tony’s face had the chance to fall, JARVIS stepped in with his own opinion, “I’m not sure ‘out-douching’ would work for Mr. Rogers, Sir. Rather, appealing to something this person likes would probably work better.” 

Despite Tony’s immediate declaration that _kissing ass is never the answer_ , Steve’s mind was already going through what he knew Loki liked: world domination….mind control….. Yeah. Well, what did most people, regardless of villainy, enjoy? 

_Got it!_

“Thank you JARVIS, Tony. You’ve been a great help.” Steve stood, inclined his head to the still-arguing Tony, the nearest camera, and swiftly escaped back down the elevator.

# ***

During the walk back to his apartment, Steve had to admit that JARVIS had been a lot more helpful than he had anticipated. Without the input of the AI, Steve would have been just as, if not more, confused then when he arrived at the tower. 

Now though, Steve had a plan. It was fickle, and would probably blow up in his face, but at least he had something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's strategy for dealing with assholes is inspired by Sherza's Damaged Defenders . Chapter 93-94 almost killed me I laughed that hard.


	3. Sultanas, Raisins and Apple Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening for this chapter:  Make this Go On Forever by Snow Patrol

Two days later the Captain returned. He had an odd look on his face; Loki wanted to call it a smirk, but he didn’t think the Captain was vindictive enough for the expression. There was a satchel-bag strapped across his shoulders.

“Hello, Captain.” Loki said, raising from his cot. His voice was cold and his eyes guarded. 

“Loki,” Steve acknowledged, and put down his bag, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of bringing you some things.”

From his satchel, Steve grabbed two hardback books and a tupperware container. An eyebrow hiked up Loki’s forehead. Whatever the Captain had brought must have been approved for Loki’s consumption by one of his captors. Even so, the prince was wary.

The Captain confidently walked up to the hatch in the door and pushed through both books and the small tupperware container. With great trepidation, Loki approached the hatch and allowed himself a look at the gifts - eyebrows raised in the Captain's direction the entire time. The books were sturdy and bound in a soft material Loki could not place. 

One of the books was a plain black with a simple green box overlay, proclaiming the title ‘The Great Gatsby’. The other was mottled orange and offered a cursive ‘Much Ado About Nothing’. 

“I noticed that you have nothing to do - besides count ceiling tiles,” the young prince allowed himself an internal laugh at the truth of the statement, “So I thought you might appreciate something to read.”

Though he didn’t respond, Loki carefully placed his two new books on top of his pillow. Steve was going to count the books as a success. Next, Loki grabbed the tupperware and pulled off the green-lid. Inside were a few slices of what looked to be sweet bread, cut through with small fruit pieces. 

Steve took a little perverse pleasure in seeing the once-mad prince so unsure. 

“It’s called barmbrack\- ” The Captain took a similar tupperware container from his satchel and began to eat it’s contents, “ -and it’s really good. At least, I think so.” 

Admittedly comforted by the Captain’s consumption of the strange bread, Loki took a tentative bite of his own portion. 

_Oh Norns._

Despite having no clue what this barmbrack was, it was immediately the best thing Loki had eaten in since his fall from the Bifrost. Being a neigh-immortal God, Thanos hardly thought it worth the waste of resources to feed the young prince, and whatever passed for food in this metal cage had a distinctly powdery aftertaste. Loki had been raised to make due with what you could find, and compared to his prior starvation the food at the facility had almost been decent, but in comparison to this gift, it was dirt. 

Not that Loki let any of this show on his face. He allowed himself an appreciative look and quickly finished the rest of his slice, putting the lid back onto the tupperware and sliding it under his cot for later.

“I hope you don’t mind, Captain, if I keep your container so that I may eat the rest of your barmbrack later.”

Steve had a distinctly happy glint to his eye, though Loki couldn’t imagine why. “Please, feel free. I’ll pick it up when I next visit.” 

Loki wanted to feign offense at the Captain’s presumptuous statement, but felt it would only reflect badly on what little dignity he still possessed, “My thanks.”

# ***

Steve was inexplicably pleased with how Loki had responded to his gifts. So much so that he had decided to continue baking Loki cakes and sweets if it meant he could see that innocently pleased look on his face again. 

As a result, Steve’s kitchen was now, that evening, positively drowning in flour and apple peel. Not to mention the man himself, who had somehow managed to get flour in his hair. 

Despite the mess, Steve greatly enjoyed baking. It was repetitive work that allowed his mind to roam. And roam it did, back to the unending enigma that was prince Loki. 

Steve simply didn’t know what to make of the man. One minute he was reserved yet charming, the next he was so cold it took Steve’s breath away. He wanted to dislike him. He really, truly did. Wanted to hate Loki even. He had killed countless people, threatened his friends. But something kept the hate from forming. Steve didn’t know if it was the prince’s pitiful state, or maybe his simple joy at eating home-cooked food, but Steve couldn’t hate him. 

The blonde slid his uncooked apple pie into the oven and sighed. There’s no point in worrying over what you can’t change.

With nothing else left to do but wait for the pie and wallow, Steve set about cleaning the disaster scene that had become his kitchen.

# ***

Loki was so happy to have something to do, even if that something was read midgardian drivel. 

With the Captain gone Loki settled on his cot and picked up one of the books. He resolutely ignored the approving look Leeroy was giving him at the guard station.

_‘The Great Gatsby’_. “What even is a ‘Gatsby’?” Loki mused to himself. He supposed it had to be some important midgardian historical event. 

Fully comfortable, Loki opened the book to it’s first page;

> “In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
> 
> ‘Whenever you feel like criticising anyone,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages you’ve had’”

And immediately shut it.

Only by some force of will did Loki not hurl the book into the farthest corner of his cell. Instead, he calmly slid it under the cot. 

Oh, Norns. He was shaking. Not only shaking, Loki _couldn’t breath_. His chest felt too tight. His lungs refused to expand properly, only letting the tiniest of breaths in. _Why can’t he breath?_ He was doing it fine only a second ago! Loki flung his hands over his throat, trembling and gasping. The room was starting to spin. Distently, Loki could hear something. A voice maybe? It didn’t matter because _Loki still couldn’t breath_. The distant voice became quieter and quieter as the still-spinning room faded out of sight. Not that Loki cared, all he cared about was how, with the darkness, his pain in his chest slightly eased.

# ***

Instead of the usual procedure of being waved through to the prince’s cell, at the doors Steve was met by the older guard assigned to Loki during the day. Leeroy, if Steve remembered correctly. He gave the Captain a sad smile and asked him through to the observation room. 

It was exactly how Steve imagined it to be. A small, dark room with an entire wall of screens and empty coffee cups strewn about across the expansive desk. They were not the only people in the room; a few other security guards in scruffy SHIELD uniforms were sat staring at monitors. They didn’t appear to notice the appearance of Leeroy and the Captain.

Before Steve had a chance to ask about the change of scenery Leeroy was lowering his guard cap, “I don’t know if the prisoner is all that up to seeing you today, Captain.”

“How come?” Steve asked.

“A little while after you left yesterday, the prisoner had a species of fit and fainted. He woke ‘bout twenty minutes later, but he’s refused to move from his cot. Hasn’t eaten, either.” Leeroy shrugged and sat in one of the big wheelie chairs. 

Steve, unsure of how to respond, ran a hand down his face and blew out a breath. He sneaked a glance at the wall of screens, only to find Loki how Leeroy described - chest gently rising and falling with his breath, but otherwise unresponsive.

“Well, can I at least duck in and see if I can get him to eat?” With this the Captain pulled a tupperware container, similar to the one from yesterday, out of his satchel, “He really enjoyed the barmbrack, so I thought more home baked goods would do him well. This is your share.”

Steve gave the warm tupperware to Leeroy and smiled as the older man opened the container.

“Apple pie? It just might do.”

Leeroy swiftly thanked the Captain for the pie and waved him through to visit Loki.

# ***

He looked worse in real life. All Loki did was lay and stare at the back wall. He didn’t even turn to check who had entered the room. Just laid there and breathed. If Steve hadn’t have seen his eyes open on the live feed in the observation room he would have believed Loki to be asleep. 

Steve took up his usual spot in front of the glass, determined to continue as if everything was normal. He had already learnt that pointing out discrepancies with Loki didn’t end well. 

“Hello.”

No answer.

“I brought you more earth sweets. This is called apple pie. It’s my favourite.”

Nothing.

Uncertain of what else to do, Steve put the tupperware of apple pie into the door hatch, “It’s there if you want it.” 

Not even a twitch. 

With no other gifts to give and Loki so unresponsive, Steve started to close up his satchel and made to wave at the camera to let him out, when Loki finally moved.

Steve couldn’t help but stare as Loki, somehow even more dishevelled and bruised, quietly rolled over, picked up the container of leftover barmbrack and quickly slot it into the hatch. He grabbed the apple pie, shuffled back to the bed, laid down and faced the wall. Loki did not once look at Steve. 

The Captain hesitated before going to grab the barmbrack from the hatch. He allowed himself a final glance at Loki, curled up and clutching the apple pie, then swiftly turned and motioned for the door to be opened. 

Leeroy once again met him at the door, “At least he moved.”

The older man patted Steve on the shoulder and left to take up his usual guard position. Steve spent the ride back to the city in silence.


	4. Your Soft Skin is Weeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from Set Fire to the Third Bar by Snow Patrol and Martha Wainwright 
> 
> Anybody else noticed my love for Snow Patrol? :D

The past week had been a blur. The only absolute in Loki’s mind is that at some point he ate apples, and while they were never going to be as good as Idunn’s, in his fragile state they were the sweetest ambrosia. 

Loki has no clue as to how he got those apples. He didn’t ask Leeroy; he didn’t want to know. Still doesn’t. 

He’s laying on the floor, once again counting ceiling tiles, when The Captain finally returns. Loki assumed that the blonde had been barred from visiting him in his, ah... _fragile state_.

“Hello, Captain.” 

Steve was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes downcast, “I’m sorry you’ve been so sick lately. I don’t know if it was some of the food I gave you, or something else, but I won’t bring you anymore dessert - just in case…” 

“Don’t be foolish, Captain,” Loki scoffed, “None of your inferior Midgardian fair could so much as give me indigestion.” 

“Okay. Do- ...ah, do you know… why you-?”

“Once again, Captain, that is none of your concern.” Loki got up off of the floor. He wanted to look Steve in the eyes. 

Blond brows drew a hair's width closer together, “You know what, Loki? I _do_ think it’s my concern when I come to visit you and find you practically comatose. For all I knew I’d poisoned you with an act of goodwill.”

“It had _nothing_ to do with you. None of it has! Not that, not my eye color, not the invasion-”

“Well what _has_ it got to do with? I’ve tried my damndest to extend an olive branch to you Loki but I can’t keep getting nothing in return.”

Loki wrapped his arms around himself and started pacing across the floor of his small cell, “I can’t give you anything because there is nothing left to give. They took it all; everything I have, everything _I am_. There is nothing for you to take, Captain.” 

For a moment, it wasn’t Loki Steve saw, but Bucky - eyes wild and bruised from lack of sleep, pacing across their tent and mumbling to himself about ‘the asset’ and ‘they want to unmake me’. Steve never knew what horrors his best friend must have been reliving, but here was a man, similarly broken and screaming for help. Murderer or no, Steve simply couldn’t leave him.

“Who took you?”

In place of an answer, Loki thrust his hand under his cot, pulled out a book and violently slammed its cover against the glass.

“ _‘The Great Gatsby?’_ Loki I… I don’t understand.”

The mad prince locked his bright green eyes onto Steve’s. The Captain was momentarily overwhelmed by the knowledge that Loki was much more ancient then he was, older than he could ever hope to comprehend. Steve was barely twenty-two when he entered the ice. He briefly wondered how old Loki was. 

_“‘Whenever you feel like criticising anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages you’ve had.’”_

Loki averted his eyes, suddenly finding the space between his toes incredibly interesting. 

Steve didn't want to consider what that quote meant. He couldn't even entertain the thought that Loki had been some form of victim. Sick? Yes, that was obvious. But beyond his own control? Not yet. Not with so many people dead by his hands. 

Steve glanced meaningfully towards the camera, hoping that Leeroy would understand, and stepped forward, gently placing his palm against the glass right over the offending book cover. He didn’t move away, even when Loki stood back to rub the tear tracts from his cheeks.

# ***

“Hello Cap. Two visits in as many weeks- you’re gonna make me blush.” Instead of his workshop, Steve had been invited to Tony’s penthouse suite. He was currently sat on one of the sofas, nursing a glass of water and observing as Pepper and Tony playfully swapped raised eyebrows.

“What can we do for you, Steve?” Pepper leaned forward, her attention solely on Steve.

“I- ah… How to say this?” 

Tony put down his highball of scotch. “Lay it on us, Steve. Shame does not exist in this penthouse.” 

“No, it’s nothing of _that_ nature.” Steve grabbed Tony’s glass and took a slip, “I need to know that whatever I say will stay between us.”

Pepper and Tony shared a look.

“You have our word.” 

“I’ve spent the last few weeks visiting a, um, _subject of interest_ to shield. They don’t really like me, and I know they won’t appreciate what I’m going to ask you, but I think they need a psychiatrist - not someone involved with shield, though.” Steve picked at a loose thread on his knee. 

Pepper was the first to respond, “I’m not sure, Steve. I don’t know if we can bring in someone without SHIELD’s permission, especially someone under such a high-security detail that you can’t even name them.”

“I know. The person I’m visiting just reminds me _so much_ of Bucky, I couldn’t not try to help them and still have a clean conscious,” The Captain took a deep breath and made to stand, “Thank you both, anyway.”

“Wait!” Tony held a hand out as if he could hold Steve down with the power of his mind, “I know a guy.”

# ***

An hour outside of the city, in a large country manor-house, a phone is ringing. 

“Hello, professor? I need to call in a favor...”

“Interesting. I’ll be there soon. I hope you don’t mind if I bring a student along?”


End file.
